The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume Ii Part 8

Oh! when I hear thee sing of "Jamie far away,"

Of "father and of mother," and of "Auld Robin Gray,"

I listen till I think it is Jeanie's self I hear, And I look in thy face with a blessing and a tear.

"I look in thy face," for my heart it is not cold,[85] 240 Though winter's frost is stealing on, and I am growing old; Those tones I shall remember as long as I live, 242 And a blessing and a tear shall be the thanks I give.

The tear it is for summers that so blithesome have been, For the flowers that all are faded, and the days that I have seen; The blessing, la.s.sie, is for thee, whose song, so sadly sweet, Recalls the music of "Lang Syne," to which my heart has beat.

PART FIFTH.

LANG SYNE--VISION OF THE DELUGE--CONCLUSION

The music of "Lang Syne!" Oh! long ago It died away--died, and was heard no more!

And where those hills that skirt the level vale, On to the left, the prospect intercept, I would not, could not look, were they removed; I _would_ not, _could_ not look, lest I should see The sunshine on that spot of all the world, Where, starting from the dream of youth, I gazed Long since, on the cold, clouded world, and cried, Beautiful vision, loved, adored, in vain, 10 Farewell--farewell, for ever!

How sincere, How pure was my heart's love! oh! was it not?

Yes; Heaven can witness, now my brow is changed, And I look back, and almost seem to hear The music of the days when we were young, Like music in a dream, ere we awoke, Oh! witness, Heaven, how fervent, how sincere-- How fervent, and how tender, and how pure, 19 Was my fond heart's first love!

The summer eve Shone, as with sympathy of sweet farewell, Upon thy Tor, and solitary mound, Glaston, as rapidly I pa.s.sed along, Borne from those scenes for ever, while with song The sorrows of the hour and way beguiled.

So pa.s.sed the days of youth, which ne'er return, Tearful; for worldly fortune smiled too late, And the poor minstrel-boy had then no wealth, Save such as poets dream of--love and hope. 30 At Fortune's frown, the wreath which Hope entwined Lay withering, for the dream had been too sweet For human life; yet never, though his love, All his fond love, he muttered to the winds; Though oft he strove, distempered, without joy, To drown even the remembrance that he lived-- Never a weak complaint escaped his lip, Save that some tender tones, as he pa.s.sed on, Died on his desultory lyre.

No more! 40 Forget the shadows of a feverish dream, That long has pa.s.sed away! Uplift the eyes To Him who sits above the water flood,-- To Him who was, and is, and is to come!

Wrapped in the view of ages that are pa.s.sed, And marking here the record of earth's doom, Let us, even now, think that we hear the sound-- The sound of the great flood, the peopled earth Covering and surging in its solitude!

Let us forget the pa.s.sing hour, the stir 50 Of this tumultuous scene of human things, And bid imagination lift the veil 52 Spread o'er the rolling globe four thousand years!

The vision of the deluge! Hark--a trump!

It was the trump of the Archangel! Stern He stands, whilst the awakening thunder rolls Beneath his feet! Stern, and alone, he stands Upon Imaus' height!

No voice is heard Of revelry or blasphemy so high! 60 He sounds again his trumpet; and the clouds Come deepening o'er the world!

Why art thou pale?

A strange and fearful stillness is on earth, As if the shadow of the Almighty pa.s.sed O'er the abodes of man, and hushed at once The song, the shout, the cries of violence, The groan of the oppressed, and the deep curse Of blasphemy, that scowls upon the clouds, And mocks the deeper thunder! 70 Hark! a voice-- Perish! Again the thunder rolls; the earth Answers, from north to south, from east to west-- Perish! The fountains of the mighty deep Are broken up; the rushing rains descend, Like night--deep night; while, momentary seen, Through blacker clouds, on his pale phantom-horse, Death, a gigantic skeleton, rides on, Rejoicing, where the millions of mankind-- Visible, where his lightning-arrows glared-- 80 Welter beneath the shadow of his horse!

Now, dismally, through all her caverns, h.e.l.l Sends forth a horrid laugh, that dies away, And then a loud voice answers--Victory!

Victory to the rider and his horse! 85 Victory to the rider and his horse!

Ride on:--the ark, majestic and alone On the wide waste of the careering deep, Its hull scarce peering through the night of clouds, Is seen. But, lo! the mighty deep has shrunk! 90 The ark, from its terrific voyage, rests On Ararat. The raven is sent forth,-- Send out the dove, and as her wings far off Shine in the light, that streaks the severing clouds, Bid her speed on, and greet her with a song:--

Go, beautiful and gentle dove; But whither wilt thou go?

For though the clouds ride high above, How sad and waste is all below!

The wife of Shem, a moment to her breast 100 Held the poor bird, and kissed it. Many a night When she was listening to the hollow wind, She pressed it to her bosom, with a tear; Or when it murmured in her hand, forgot The long, loud tumult of the storm without.

She kisses it, and at her father's word, Bids it go forth.

The dove flies on! In lonely flight She flies from dawn till dark; And now, amid the gloom of night, 110 Comes weary to the ark.

Oh! let me in, she seems to say, For long and lone hath been my way!

Oh! once more, gentle mistress, let me rest, And dry my dripping plumage on thy breast!

So the bird flew to her who cherished it. 116 She sent it forth again out of the ark;-- Again it came at evening fall, and, lo!

An olive-leaf plucked off, and in its bill.

And Shem's wife took the green leaf from its bill, 120 And kissed its wings again, and smilingly Dropped on its neck one silent tear for joy.

She sent it forth once more; and watched its flight, Till it was lost amid the clouds of heaven: Then gazing on the clouds where it was lost, Its mournful mistress sung this last farewell:--

Go, beautiful and gentle dove, And greet the morning ray; For, lo! the sun shines bright above, And night and storm have pa.s.sed away. 130 No longer, drooping, here confined, In this cold prison dwell; Go, free to sunshine and to wind, Sweet bird, go forth, and fare thee well!

Oh! beautiful and gentle dove, Thy welcome sad will be, When thou shalt hear no voice of love, In murmurs from the leafy tree: Yet freedom, freedom shalt thou find, From this cold prison's cell; 140 Go, then, to sunshine and the wind, Sweet bird, go forth, and fare thee well![86]

And never more she saw it; for the earth Was dry, and now, upon the mountain's van, Again the great Archangel stands; the light Of the moist rainbow glitters on his hair-- 146 He to the bow uplifts his hands, whose arch Spans the whole heaven; and whilst, far off, in light, The ascending dove is for a moment seen, The last rain falls--falls, gently and unheard. 150 Amid the silent sunshine! Oh! look up!-- Above the clouds, borne up the depth of light, Behold a cross!--and round about the cross, Lo! angels and archangels jubilant, Till the ascending pomp in light is lost, Lift their acclaiming voice--Glory to thee, Glory, and praise, and honour be to thee, Lord G.o.d of hosts; we laud and magnify Thy glorious name, praising Thee evermore, For the great dragon is cast down, and h.e.l.l 160 Vanquished beneath thy cross, Lord Jesus Christ!

Hark! the clock strikes! The shadowy scene dissolves, And all the visionary pomp is past!

I only see a few sheep on the edge Of this aerial ridge, and Banwell Tower, Gray in the morning sunshine, at our feet.

Farewell to Banwell Cave, and Banwell Hill, And Banwell Church;[87] and farewell to the sh.o.r.es Where, when a child, I wandered; and farewell, Harp of my youth! Above this mountain-cave 170 I leave thee, murmuring to the fitful breeze That wanders from that sea, whose sound I heard So many years ago.

Yet, whilst the light Steals from the clouds, to rest upon that tower, I turn a parting look, and lift to Heaven A parting prayer, that our own Zion, thus,-- With sober splendour, yet not gorgeous, 178 Her mitred brow tempered with lenity And apostolic mildness--in her mien No dark defeature, beautiful as mild, And gentle as the smile of charity,-- Thus on the Rock of Ages may uplift Her brow majestic, pointing to the spires That grace her village glens, or solemn fanes In cities, calm above the stir and smoke, And listening to deep harmonies that swell From all her temples!

So may she adorn-- Her robe as graceful, as her creed is pure-- 190 This happy land, till time shall be no more!

And whilst her gray cathedrals rise in air, Solemn, august, and beautiful, and touched By time, to show a grace, but no decay, Like that fair pile, which, from h.o.a.r Mendip's brow, The traveller beholds, crowning the vale Of Avalon, with all its towers in light; So, England, may thy gray cathedrals lift Their front in heaven's pure light, and ever boast Such prelate-lords--bland, but yet dignified-- 200 Pious, paternal, and beloved, as he Who prompted, and forgives, this Severn song!

And thou, O Lord and Saviour! on whose rock That Church is founded, though the storm without May howl around its battlements, preserve Its spirit, and still pour into the hearts Of all, who there confess thy holy name, Peace, that, through evil or through good report, They may hold on their blameless way!

For me, 210 Though disappointment, like a morning cloud, Hung on my early hopes, that cloud is pa.s.sed,-- Is pa.s.sed, but not forgotten,--and the light Is calm, not cold, which rests upon the scene, Soon to be ended. I may wake no more The melody of song on earth; but Thee, Father of Heaven, and Saviour, at this hour, Father and Lord, I thank Thee that no song Of mine, from youth to age, has left a stain I would blot out; and grateful for the good Thy providence, through many years, has lent, Humbly I wait the close, till Thy high will Dismiss me,--blessed if, when that hour shall come, My life may plead, far better than my song.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 4: The reader is referred to Dr Buckland's most interesting ill.u.s.trations of these remains of a former world. The Bishop of Bath and Wells has built a picturesque and appropriate cottage near the cave, on the hill commanding this fine view.]

[Footnote 5: The stupendous Cheddar Cliffs, in the neighbourhood.]

[Footnote 6: Wookey, _Antrum Ogonis_.]

[Footnote 7: Uphill church.]

[Footnote 8: Flat and Steep Holms.]

[Footnote 9: Mr Beard, of Banwell, called familiarly "the Professor,"

but in reality the guide.]

[Footnote 10: Egyptian G.o.d of silence.]

[Footnote 11: Halt of the French army at the sight of the ruins.]

[Footnote 12: The Roman way pa.s.ses immediately under Banwell.]

[Footnote 13: The abbey was built by the descendants of Becket's murderers. Almost at the brink of the channel, being secured from it only by a narrow shelf of rocks called Swallow-clift, William de Courteneye, about 1210, founded a friary of Augustine monks at Worsprynge, or Woodspring, to the honour of the Holy Trinity, the Virgin Mary, and St Thomas a Becket. William de Courteneye was a descendant of William de Traci, and was nearly related to the three other murderers of a Becket, to whom this monastery was dedicated.]

[Footnote 14: See the late Sir Charles Elton's pathetic description of the deaths of his two sons at Weston, whilst bathing in his sight; one lost in his endeavour to save his brother.]

[Footnote 15: Called "The Wolves," from their peculiar sound.]

[Footnote 16: Uphill.]

[Footnote 17: Southey.]

[Footnote 18: Three sisters.]

[Footnote 19: Dr Henry Bowles, physician on the staff, buried at sea.]

[Footnote 20: Charles Bowles, Esq. of Shaftesbury.]

[Footnote 21: The author.]